


The Forgotten

by treibrayc



Category: Cosmere - Brandon Sanderson, Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: F/M, Post-OB, Rlain content we deserve, RoW Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:33:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26076502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treibrayc/pseuds/treibrayc
Summary: After the Battle of Thaylen Field, Rlain is sent to infiltrate and gain information inside occupied Alethkar. But when a mysterious listener figure known as 'The Envoy' comes through the area, Rlain must choose between his heritage and his duty. Either way, the answers he seeks lie with the Envoy.
Relationships: Rlain & Venli
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	1. Purpose

Rlain found purpose in wielding the spear. He had heard stories of Kaladin Stormblessed throwing himself into this art after some tragedy. He felt a bit like that man, the one who owned the winds, today. His spear thrusted forward, the tip blunted a piece of cloth affixed to its point. Air sculpted around the weapon, rushing to fill the gap where it used to occupy. He had become more aware of the air after watching Bridge Four fly all those months ago. Many storms had passed since he’d been able to see them all. His friends had been scattered to the winds of Roshar, and so had he. His duty was much more important-and he feared-dangerous.

Rlain felt the tip of one spear meet another, the clang dampened by the guards that covered both. “Good effort, Cerr, but I anticipated your attack.” Rlain said, looking at the other malen, marbled white and red.

“Passions...that’s what? Nine times out of 10 you’ve got me.” Cerr said, rubbing his thick orange skullcap. Cerr’s warform carapace armor was thinner than most Rlain had seen, more of the marbled skin peeking out from underneath. “I can see why the Regals and them want you as our companylord.”

“Attune to the Rhythm of Praise if you want to speak highly of someone.” Rlain droned to the Rhythm of Annoyance, a quiet rhythm with sharp tones strung throughout.

“Er, of course, Sah. I always forget all that-still so new and all.” Cerr replied, still no rhythm to his words. That grated against Rlain, although he didn’t express the emotion, nor hum its rhythm.  _ Sah.  _ Rlain thought, the name a little odd to hear referring to himself.

It was the name Kaladin had given him-although it pained the Alethi man for an unknown reason. His new name, one that would better conceal his identity among the new singers.

That was his goal after all, to infiltrate, gain information, and sabotage Odium’s armies wherever he could. It was the most he could do. Rlain would never walk the winds like his friends-he had grown to accept that. Singers could never be Radiants, he had heard it said. In his youth, from the songs of history, and once again when Radiants began to walk Roshar once again.

He could accept the fact that stormlight would never come as he called. If Rlain could not become a Windrunner, then he would live by their ideals instead.

_ Protect those who cannot protect themselves.  _ Rlain thought, looking back up at his opponent, still standing with a blank look on his face. Cerr was the squad leader of another of the squad’s in Rlain’s company, a fine enough leader and organizer, but not much of a fighter. “How about another bout before we turn in for dinner?” Rlain asked, speaking to the Rhythm of Confidence.

“If you insist...but I’ll have you know, I won't go down without a fight!” Cerr said, raising his spear. It was a little one, almost a hand shorter than it should be.

“I think that’s the point, Cerr.” Rlain said, taking two steps back to stand at the edge of the sparring ring.

“Maybe you’re right! Ha! Let’s not dice cremlings and get going, okay?” Cerr spun his spear once, standing in a traditional Alethi spearman’s stance. One foot back, pushed into the dirt to give traction, the other forward, ready to step and thrust if needed. He had a shield tied to one arm, weighing down how quickly he could move.

Rlain took a different posture, both feet at shoulder width, his knees bent. He breathed in, the sticky air of a season of summer filling his lungs. His uniform felt snug against his sharp carapace, black and red, merely a dyed Alethi uniform, with the sleeves cut off-those interfered with the shoulder plates that grew in warform. The ribbons of white strung around his arms signified rank. There was also a navy blue band wrapped around his arm, tied into an uneven knot. It had started so Alethi troops could more easily identify him, but the idea had come to be a part of the identity of his new squad. The uniform had no sleeves, as those interfered with the carapace that grew around the shoulder. Then he jumped.

Warform was known for its bursts of great strength. They could not run as long as a human, but they had the ability to do great things. Leaping the chasms of the Shattered Plains was one, although he had seen other such feats during his time at Narak.

Rlain lunged for Cerr, catching the malen off guard. He grabbed the singer’s filmy uniform and pulled him close, knocking the spear out of his hands. Rlain pushed Cerr to the ground, careful not to rough him up too much. He leveled his spear against Cerr’s throat, and noticed the look in the fallen malen’s inky black eyes. Was it terror or awe that filled him?

“Not much of a bout.” Rlain grumbled to himself, reaching out a hand to help Cerr up.

“Rider of Storms, man.” Cerr laughed, dusting off his uniform. “I know not to ask for another round.”

“You did well.” Rlain said, turning away from Cerr. “Now that we’ve worked up an appetite, how about some food?” He tied his spear to the pack on his back, and added, “Maybe it’ll be better than yesterday.”

“Don’t you say that everyday?” Cerr asked, falling into stride with Rlain. Cerr was a fair bit shorter than Rlain, so it was clearly more difficult more him to keep stride.

“A man can hope, can he not?” Rlain answered to the Rhythm of Amusement. In truth, it did hurt him knowing he couldn’t come and eat Rock’s stew every night. “It’s not so bad.”

Cerr coughed into his arm, nodding, “Right, right. Better food than I’ve had as a workform, or…” He trailed off, his posture more rigid.  _ As a slave.  _ Rlain thought, filling in the gap.

“Don’t be thinking about all that. Helps me that I don’t dwell on it.” Rlain said, stepping around a cart filled with lavis grain that was being pulled down the narrow road by two human caravaneers. Their faces were obscured by rough cloth hoods, but he knew the expression that was painted across them. Blankness. The same expression he had seen on parsh faces throughout the Shattered Plains and beyond. Except these humans weren’t without mind like the parsh-they felt every bit of pain, every touch of sorrow, and every fleeting grace of joy. The cart continued on, moving towards one of the many mills that dotted the Windrunner River.

Another reminder. “I feel a little bad for them, you know?” Rlain nodded to the cart.

“Why? They enslaved us for millennia, Sah. Why shouldn’t the  _ humans  _ get a little bit of the same treatment?” Cerr said, finally speaking to one of the rhythms-Irritation.

“I don’t think anyone should have to live that way, Cerr. Just doesn’t seem right.” Rlain said, looking up at the town growing in front of them. It had once been occupied by humans, of course, but most of them had been shipped to work the outer farms. Now it was a military camp, barracks soulcast by Fused lining new streets surrounding the pre-existing town. Many walked these paved roads. Work forms hauling worked stone to shore up the western wall against the highstorm. Creationspren filtered out of one building. It seemed artforms had a studio there. Mothers and their children. The elderly and the young all walked these narrow streets. All this splendor, the happy society that had formed here in the year since the Everstorm, was all built on the backs of the damned. Humans, who outnumbered singers ten to one in many places, pressed into hard labor. They had no reprieve. It sickened Rlain. Among them all, were the soldiers, spears on their shoulders or tied to their back. Some standing watch, with their eyes trained out and up, eyes ever vigilant for Windrunner scouting parties and raids. Those were becoming increasingly common in this area, although he couldn’t surmise why. It had been nearly a month since he’d been able to get in touch with Kaladin.

“You’ve got some strange ideas beneath your skullcap, Sah.” Cerr said, turning a corner.

“It’s just everything going on has me thinking. Not like I’ve had much of a chance before.” Rlain said, shaking his head.

“I let the Gods do the thinking. For now, I’m just trying to make up for all the life I’ve lost.” Cerr sighed, “Being in the army ain’t so bad. Not like we’ve done much fighting anyhow. They’ve fed us good, pay us good, give us plenty of leisure time. Try to enjoy it instead of moping around, eh?” Cerr clapped Rlain on the back, making him stumble forward. The blue band tied around his upper arm slid down to the elbow. 

Rlain cursed and looked back, regaining his balance, “You should warn me before doing something like that.” Deep inside, a certain sorrow swelled up within Rlain. Thude had acted like that. Thude was dead now. All the listeners had gone with them All of them but Rlain. He pushed it down, as he did each time. The sorrow, like a whitespine within, only got more ferocious the longer one goaded it on. “I...maybe you’re right Cerr. Take some more time off the sparring ground and get myself something nice.”

“Good man!” He looked at Rlain, noticing the blue band still hanging loosely over his elbow, “Now you never did tell me what those blue bands were for.”

“Oh, it’s just something my squad wears. Helps us pick out one another in a crowd and all.” Rlain said, quickly-maybe too quickly.

“Is that it? Could’ve sworn it was a deterrent so the fine Singer females know to stay away.” Cerr said, turning another corner, onto the street where their company's barracks and mess hall were situated. 

“Are you in mateform and my eyes are deceiving me? I don’t care about things like that, Cerr. You sound almost human.” Rlain said, attuning Amusement.

Cerr sputtered, “Gah, me, acting human? With your free time, maybe go get someone to look at that brain of yours.”

Rlain felt another twinge of sadness. In some ways, chatting with Cerr was almost like being back in Bridge 4, with the easy ribbing they all partook in. He would’ve fit right in, Cerr would, if only he lost his carapace and found himself another set of skin. In that way, he was like Rlain, despite all of Bridge 4’s arguments to the contrary.  _ If only Roshar wasn’t turned upside down and shattered like the plains.  _ Rlain shrugged, “They say the reason humans can't be trusted is that they’re too changing. Instead of changing forms during the storm, they’re always changing. They’ll be in mateform one moment, then go straight back to work or war or nimble. They’re all and none of the forms.” He said, shaking his head.

Cerr nodded, “I guess that makes sense. I’ve never thought of it that way. For being such an odd lump of crem, you’ve got a good rockbud on the end of your shoulders, Sah.”

Rlain hummed to the Rhythm of Appreciation, letting that be answer enough. The two arrived at the narrow dining hall, meant to service the few companies that were tucked beside the cliff that spanned the eastern edge of town. It was getting late, the sun starting to set at their backs. The building was soulcast, like most surrounding the little town, swirls in the side showing the air flowing as the transition was made. He knew from his time in the Shattered Plains that the Alethi hung fabric or built out of wood to then be soulcast, but the Fused were beyond that, it seemed.

Rlain and Cerr stepped into the chaotic hall, their spears leaned against the wall with a slew of other weapons. Singer tactics depended more on motion and fluidity compared to the human way of rigid shield walls and spear formations.  _ During battle, a war pair is closer than your family. Your friends. You must be attuned to one another, like you are attuned to the rhythms.  _ Rlain could almost hear the words, stern but welcoming. Familiar, but so, so far away. Eshonai had said them to him-and to the others trained for battle against the Alethi all that time ago. When he hadn’t proved strong enough to fight and die for the listeners, the Five had set him at a different task.  _ The Five…  _ Rlain thought, starting to quietly hum the Rhythm of the Lost. The hall was still packed with soldiers, filled with other rhythms and other noise. He could let the mask slip for just a moment.  _ All dead. Everyone around me died, and yet I lived.  _ He took in a deep breath, and continued on, grabbing the bowl that was offered to him. Cerr had slipped away to his squad, and Rlain’s squad had already eaten. 

He had stayed late at the sparring grounds to try to win over Cerr to his end. He’d been working at the man for a week now, and still, he was a tough shell to crack. He had already brought his squad to the ideals he sought, the dreams that lived on only in his gemheart. Eleven malen and femalen. So few, but so many. 

Rlain sat alone and ate quietly. The boiled tallew with spicy cremlings wasn’t the worst food he’d had, but far from the best.

A songling scuttled across the empty table, rubbing its shell as it moved.  _ That sounds almost like the Rhythm of Pleading.  _ Rlain smiled, humming to the Rhythm of Peace. He grabbed one of the roasted cremlings and handed it to the songling who then ate it voraciously. Rlain sat, and continued the Rhythm of Peace. He ate quietly, as the little songling scuttled away, still clicking and rubbing its shell. 

All at once, the room quieted. Rlain turned to look and slowly started to clench his teeth. A Regal, with piercing red eyes at the head of the room, with carapace growing like spikes from various points across her body. She wore a Havah in the Vorin cut, bleached white. The Regal femalen spoke to a new rhythm-one of  _ his  _ rhythms. While Rlain could recognize the Rhythm as Command, he couldn’t replicate it. Only one holding a form of power could do that. Still, the sound of it made his stomach churn. All his life, he’d been taught to curse the Gods and those who hold the forms they granted, and one stood in front of him. The sight of the Regal stirred in him a deep regret and a deeper fear.  _ I should’ve gone to Narak sooner and stopped this. I held the keys to peace in my hand and I dawdled…  _ His mind twisted and turned, but his gaze stayed locked on the Regal and those blood red eyes. Eyes that stood out against a dreary sky, Rain pattering against the ground in a solemn, lifeless beat. That singing, those rasping voices…

Rlain found himself trembling, as he thought back to the Tragedy at Narak, staring down his friends from across the plateau, turned into the monsters from nightmare. The Regal spoke but Rlain missed the words, voice still etched with that searing rhythm. His hands felt clammy, but he took one breath after another, imitating what he’d heard breathing stormlight is like. Slowly, then all at once. It helped ease his nerves to think of happy times with Bridge 4. Still, his thoughts wandered there despite his every intention, the words of the Regal barely more than another song in the events that played in his head over and over.  _ I wasn’t fast enough...I wasn’t fast enough...I couldn’t protect them...would it have mattered?  _ The last notion came as a surprise to Rlain, an intrusion, slowing the storm of sorrow that threatened to consume him.  _ They were under his influence, would-could-my arrival have stopped it?  _ Rlain didn’t know the answer.

“-My last item of business is on an important visitor coming to camp as a token of your passion. The Envoy will come to tell the story of the lost listeners, those that sacrificed to bring us life. She is the last of them. I hope that this will elevate our passion and prepare you to fight. May your passions guide you.” The Regal said, making a sign of respect and leaving the quiet dining hall. It soon came alive with noise, as if nothing had happened.

Rlain found himself reeling. He had heard of The Envoy in vague terms, somehow connecting the Gods and the regular singers together. Not once had he heard this figure purported to be a listener. He stood up, feeling blood rush in his ears.  _ I’m not alone?  _ He felt like jumping for joy at that very spot, an action quite unbecoming of a singer. Still, the truth of the matter sickened him.  _ A servant of Odium then. Wishing to paint us as martyrs…  _ Rlain did not incur the name of the God-of-Gods lightly. He felt angry and confused at the notion, that someone with their heritage could stoop to that level. Outwardly, he looked calm, picking away at another meal. Inwardly, it was as if he was at Narak again, two storms crashing into one another.

A time later, behind his barracks, a man marbled red and black looked up at the starry sky, starspren dancing atop their perch. He had come to a decision, although it raked his soul.  _ I will not allow her to cloud our memory.  _ Rlain thought, fist clenched into a ball at his side. He would seek out The Envoy. To protect those he hated from lies, he would do what’s right. Convince the envoy to join his cause, or, barring that: Kill her.

  
  



	2. Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rlain has come to a decision, despite how much it pains him: The Envoy, the last of the listeners must die or be subdued, to stop her from tarnishing their memory. In that, Rlain has found a drizzle of peace, and a highstorm of sorrow.

Rlain found himself flinching as he saw his reflection. Black eyes, black and red marbled skin, and an orange skullcap that cut off midway down the forehead. He hadn’t changed forms, but something felt off. Almost as if another person greeted him there. He sheathed his knife, the only reflective surface he had. It was a work of art, with swirling figures etched into the metal. The blade was a memory. That was dangerous.

Rlain rubbed his eyes, feeling the faint scratch of tough skin against skin. It didn’t wake him up from the nightmare any more than getting out of bed did. Next, he felt at his beard, the slick hair strands still not long enough to warrant a trim.  _ Maybe I’ll grow it out a little. Change it up.  _ Rlain thought, drumming his fingers on a side table. Their barrack was clean, swept by the squad every night. The room had twelve cots, bunked two high, running along one wall. The rest of his band were already out, starting morning stretches. They’d let him sleep in.  _ I should be thankful, but I can’t let them make a habit of that. _ He thought, moving along the stormward wall. Rlain splashed some water from a basin onto his face. No luck. 

A short time later, Rlain stepped out of their barracks, looking at his squad with tired, tired eyes.

Merhe, a femalen who stood a short way from the barracks entrance, noticed him first, lowering her spear in the middle of a kata. It was different from the one Kaladin Stormblessed had taught the men of Bridge Four all those months ago. While that form focused on precision and powerful strikes, this new, foreign one used singers’ bursts of strength by focusing on agility and momentum. Rlain found they both had their purposes, and integrated both styles into his training and fighting. “Sah, sir, you look...weathered. You feeling alright?” Merhe asked, rubbing her arm with one hand. She had a commanding tone, and an even more demanding demeanor. She would make a good squad leader once Rlain departed-and he would, eventually. They all understood that fact.

There was a navy blue strip of ribbon tied to her arm, the symbol of their squad. If they ever had to go to battle, Kholin soldiers were informed to watch for the blue bands and not attack. It was a useful enough provision, if a bit obtuse. 

“I’m all right, Merhe. I didn’t sleep well last night is all.” Rlain said offhandedly, turning to grab a spear off the rack. They had left his favorite spear on the rack, one that was about a hand longer than the others.

“Gah. You’re lying. We can all see it in your face, sir.” Merhe said, planting her spear in the ground. She looked back for confirmation at the others, who had stopped their stretching. Scattered words of agreement followed from the others.

Rlain shook his head and said nothing in return, moving from a kata into a simple three point thrust. The long spear almost fell from his fingers in the final sweeping motion of the form. “Rider of Storms…” He cursed to himself, holding the spear with a much tighter grip. His knuckles started to turn a faint orange color from the tense action.  _ Another one of us survived. The battle, the slaughter, the storm.  _ Rlain dropped his spear in the middle of one of the more advanced listener spear forms: The Hungry Chasmfiend. Alethi efficiency, of course, denoted that their spear forms were lettered and numbered.  _ Another listener. Another servant of the enemy…  _ He felt his head spin. All his life he’d been taught to scorn and curse the gods. Stare up at the sky and spit at their prison. It was woven into the stories told to their children, the history they learned when growing up.  _ How did they let themselves be deceived?  _ Rlain felt cold, and alone. So, so alone. A dark thought-a dangerous one-crept into his mind.  _ What if they chose this power willingly.  _ He shivered, sitting down on an overturned rock, eyes clamped shut. His mind ran in circles, but it all came back to that day and those eyes.

The blood red, horrid eyes. Dotting the next plateau, soaked from the Weeping. They glowed, Rlain swore it. Glowed like hot coals against a soot stained stone. They sang, a twisted, awful Rhythm. It brought the winds, but not the winds of Honor, from the east. Those winds blew against the face of what was right and true. His people brought the storm, a final knife to the side of the Alethi. Then, one by one, they were snuffed out by steel and blood. 

Rlain felt a hand on his shoulder, rubbing against the carapace armor that grew there. He jerked out of the nightmare, the awful thoughts that raked his mind. He felt a pounding headache, and heard those sounds. The sounds of battle all around. Spears clanging “Sir! Get up. Damnation’s own backside, you look like you’re about to crumble into crem.” A voice said-Merhe’s voice, so stern.

**“** Maybe I am.” Rlain said without a thought, leaning on a large, point like rock that protruded from the ground. His legs felt weak, limp, even.

“I hardly think that’s something to joke about, sir.” Merhe said, holding onto his carapace plated arm, with a tight grip. “Do we need to get you to the infirmary?” The femalen’s gruff voice dropped to a harsh whisper, “Did they get you? Poison you, I mean? Damnation.” She cursed, eyes scanning the narrow horizon, squinting at each of the squat barracks lined up one by one.

Rlain let out a laugh, barely more than an excited groan, “Nothing like that. Just a bit out of it, is all.” He stood up, throwing off Merhe’s iron grip. His world still spun, but he smiled.  _ Strength before weakness.  _

“‘Bit out of it.’ Sah, I’ve only been awake for a year and I know how to lie better than that.” Merhe retorted, picking up her fallen spear from the ground, the head gleaming from a recent polish. 

“I...just. Something has been troubling me. It’s none of your concern to be clear. This item has a  _ wider significance,  _ let’s say.” Rlain answered, tightening one fist into a ball. He used the term to denote when an item was beyond the scope of their mission here in Alethkar. Of course, his soldiers didn’t need to know what he was planning. They couldn’t get hurt that way.

“I-of course, Sah. Sir.” Merhe said, giving a sharp salute.

“Good.” Rlain stated, taking in a deep breath. He grabbed his spear from the ground, feeling its heft in one hand. “Now, how about a spar?”

“Right here? The ground’s uneven and we really should be heading to-“ Merhe said, looking back at the rest of the squad tying their spears around their back, and thumbing through their packs. 

“We can catch up, I assure you.” Rlain said, spinning the spear once around his head for show. Kaladin always did things like that.

“Alright, but just know I’m not warmed up.” Merhe replied, rubbing the top of her skullcap, the orange carapace ridged and uneven. The femalen squinted her black eyes, balancing the spear in her hands and maintaining perfect posture. A defensive stance. Rlain recognized, it being one that the Alethi favored. He had had many a chance to meet spears or axe with an Alethi, so was familiar with the weaknesses in it.

“You say that every time, Merhe.” Rlain said, a slight smile on his face, speaking to the Rhythm of Amusement. “I wonder if I’ll one day have to face you when you  _ are  _ warmed up.”

“You wouldn’t want to. I’d knock you flat to the stone before you can lift your spear.” Merhe said, shifting her booted feet to better grip the stone.

Rlain nodded, shifting his stance to match her own, although it was less practiced to him. An anticipationspren wriggled out of the ground near Rlain, and he took a hazardous step forward, still a few paces from his opponent. He held his spear out to the right, hoping to block the lunge Merhe favored.

Merhe responded, shifting her spear to be opposite his own, block his preferred lunge. They stood there for a moment, as mirror images, neither one giving or taking the advantage from the other. Like the calm in the middle of a storm, a timeless moment he had only had described to him by Kaladin, who had faced the Rider of Storm’s own fury and lived. Rlain breathed, a quick, tense breath, and the timeless moment ended.

Merhe’s spear sliced through the air, at an angle Rlain wasn’t expecting. Too low to block with a quick jerk upward with his own, and too high to do the same downward. Rlain raised an armored forearm to block the blunted spearhead, though the impact still made him wince. It was a dangerous maneuver on the battlefield-it risked the spear cutting through a thinner carapace plate, but Rlain could take risks here. He maintained stance, wheeling around his spear to take advantage of the opening Merhe had unwittingly made.

He was, unfortunately, too slow, his spear being blocked by a quick twist of Merhe’s own, heavy metal only meeting wood. Rlain stepped back, putting himself back into stance. Merhe did the same. Many clashes between warform were like this, despite Rlain’s little stunt in the training grounds the day before. Take stance until one makes a move, get into a ferocious clash of barely more than an eyeblink, and if neither lay dead or defeated, repeat it over again. Rlain felt himself brace for a lunge when Merhe cursed, a habit she was quite fond of.

“Two storms! they’re already gone and didn’t even give a goodbye...” She said, resting her spear on a bulky shoulder. “We can pick this up later. I’d rather not go to duty today with an empty stomach.” She turned around, spear still held tight, and started off-at a quick pace-to the dining hall.

Rlain grimaced, running to catch up to her, placing his own weapon into a groove of carapace between his neck and shoulder blade. He spoke quickly, a tinge of sharpness to his words, “What do you mean ‘on duty?’ We have an off day today.” He said, genuinely confused.

“I haven’t had an off day since I was transferred to this squad, sir.” Merhe said, stepping around a pile of lumber that had spilled out onto the street. “I’m always watching, learning,  _ doing. _ ” She continued, eyes scanning the area. “You taught me that, sir. Finding myself.” She said, expression unreadable, no rhythm to her words.

“I didn’t teach you anything, Merhe. You taught yourself.” Rlain answered, looking out at the bustle of people moving in each direction, singers of black, red, and white.

“Will you tell me-tell us more about them, Sah? The listeners? All of us in the squad have been wanting to know about them. Your people.” Merhe said, meeting Rlain’s eyes.

Rlain felt as if a phantom spear had run him through, and he had no stormlight to heal the wound.  _ I...we… _ Rlain’s mind felt blank as he saw that day play in his mind, over and over again.

“The listeners are dead now.” Rlain said, letting the words hang in the air, a void of emotions in his voice. Faintly, he could hear the crash of a storm, and red lightning danced at the corners of his vision.

“Surely not all…” Merhe said, the Rhythm of the Lost faintly lacing her words. Her spear was held in a more lax grip now, unbefitting all her sternness. 

“The listeners are dead. I am  _ all  _ that remains.” Rlain lied, feeling a rush of cold wash through him. Like the rain or a storm unexpected, it froze the skin and did not let up. “I do this for their sake, Merhe. I don’t want to tarnish their memory. I’m sorry.” Rlain squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish that scene from his mind. 

Merhe nodded, looking forward again, “I...understand. I’ll encourage the others to drop the subject.”

“Thank you.” Rlain said simply. He looked at the passing buildings, these with narrow alleyways lining them. Their quartermaster’s office was just down the road a bit and…  _ The Quartermaster!  _ Rlain thought with a start.  _ By all the rhythms that play, I should’ve had the requisition forms in last week!  _ He grumbled to himself and looked back at Merhe, “Look, I’ve got to do some business in camp. I’ll meet up with the rest of you all at second meal, alright? And have an off day for once, Merhe. That’s an order.”

Merhe shook her head, and saluted, “Yes, sir!” She made the sharp right turn towards the dining hall and Rlain continued forward, making for the Office. 

He passed by one of the dim alleyways, overhangs from the buildings on either side casting the place into shadow-and felt a hand grab his arm. He felt his breath catch in his throat-and his hand instinctively went to the knife sheath that was on his belt, opposite where the hand held him in its grip. The hand, with considerable strength, pulled him into the alleyway, and shoved him up against the wall. Rlain let his spear clatter to the ground. It was too close quarters to be useful here. He unclasped the knife from its place and was about to- “Rlain. Stormfather, man.” The perpetrator hissed, voice barely higher than a whisper. Rlain studied the figure’s features. Dark hairstrands and a stern face. A workform malen it looked like-  _ Did he use my real name?  _ Rlain felt a slight tremor in his hand. “I-who? My name is Sah.”

“Stormfather, Rlain. Can you not even recognize your own commander.” The workform said, letting go of Rlain’s arm. A white-blue spren zipped around the man’s arm, giggling as she moved. Rlain let out the breath he had been holding when he saw Syl. 

“I’m sorry, sir. You startled me a little is all.” He stammered, reclasping the knife into its sheath. Rlain studied Kaladin a little more in the dim light. He had the same gruff demeanor as always, despite his altered appearance. Still, he looked more ragged than usual. Tired, overworked, perhaps? Some things couldn’t be altered by a lightweaving it seemed. “Who did the illusion? It looks better than last time.”

“One of the new Lightweavers from the tower.” Kaladin grunted, letting his hair fall in front of his eyes, “Anything significant since the last time I stopped by?” That has been almost three months ago. 

“They’re planning for something. A break out of Alethkar, I believe.” Rlain said, eyes scanning the two entrances to the alley. The forces of Odium had been holed up in Alethkar and Iri, unable to link their two fronts, finding fierce resistance in Jan Keved. If that changed, however, disaster would surely follow. “We’re to be deployed in two weeks to what used to be Sadeas’ princedom. I think they’ll be making their first move there, although I can’t say for sure.”

Kaladin nodded, “We’ll need to get you out of there. Bridge 4 is heading up for an expedition in the area at about the same timeframe. You’re too valuable to lose if things go wrong.”

Rlain closed his eyes and thought back to his squad, and what would happen to them if-for some reason-word got out that he was a spy.  _ Protect those who cannot protect themselves.  _ Rlain reminded himself. He felt strengthened, bolstered by the presence of his commander. “Sir, I’ve got a request.”

“Go ahead.” Kaladin said flatly, turning to whisper something to his spren. The blue-white ribbon zipped off, away from the two, mimicking a windspren. 

“You need to get my squad out of here too. Me leaving will put them in too much danger and-“ He trailed off, noticing the understanding in Kaladin’s eyes. Rlain swore he could see them glowing blue beneath the illusion.

“It will be difficult, but...it can be done,” Kaladin said, nodding. “How many?”

“Eleven, sir. Including myself.” Rlain replied, looking down.

“Very well. I’ll notify Dalinar of our intentions. Stay safe, soldier.” Kaladin said, tapping his wrists together in the traditional Bridge 4 salute. “Life before death,” He added on. The very air warped around Kaladin, moving around him as if he owned the winds. He turned to leave the alley the way Rlain came in.  _ I should tell him about my plan. About the envoy. So he knows, if everything goes horribly, horribly wrong. _

“Wait,” Rlain stammered, holding up a hand, “There’s something else.” He took in a breath.

Kaladin turned around, unfamiliar face looking haggard, “What is it?” He asked, a twinge of genuine concern on his face. “Rlain?”

“I’m going to do something very risky, sir. Suicidal, even.” Rlain said, closing his eyes.

Kaladin looked Rlain up and down, and grunted, “Go on.”

“I’m going to confront a Regal, sir. One of those in a form of power, that is.” Rlain admitted, hand going towards his knife sheath instinctually.

“I’m familiar with the terminology.” Kaladin said, turning to look over his shoulder, “For what purpose, Rlain? You’re our  _ only  _ agent inside Alethkar right now. I can’t have you die, storm it.” He growled, more to himself than at Rlain.

“I’m trying to get answers, sir.” Rlain said slowly. “The form of power...is a listener. The Envoy, she is called. It's just...I need to know what happened to cause Narak and the end of my people. For my own sake. I’m sorry, sir.”

Kaladin sucked in a breath, hissing as it passed through his teeth. “Stormfather, Rlain. I understand. Just, be careful. I-all of Bridge 4, really, would hate to lose you.” He made the salute again, bowing his head in respect, “Life before death, Rlain. Life before death.”

“I...Life before death,” Rlain repeated, making the salute in return. “Bridge 4.” He added, turning to leave the alleyway.

“Bridge 4,” Kaladin answered, leaving the alleyway in turn.

—/—

A short time later, Rlain found himself standing in front of the largest building of the warcamp. Made of worked stone, white and yellow strata swirling around each side, with thick walls both east and west, the administrative center was an intimidating building. Rlain steeled himself, stepping into the open aired space. A singer femalen in a willowy form hunched over a stack of papers and gave a sideways glance as Rlain came in. “Appointment?” The femalen said dryly, looking down at her papers

Rlain stood at attention, “Came here to schedule one, actually. With the Envoy. Her messages have really been a help to me.”

“Glad to hear it. Name and company? Let me see if you have the passions to pull for one.” The singer said, moving to pull a stack of papers from under the narrow desk she sat at,

“Sah, 7th Company of 2nd Battalion.” Rlain said immediately, his rank memorized. He couldn’t slip up if pressed on the matter. 

It took the scribe some time to flip through the stacks and stacks of records, but eventually she pulled out a single slip of paper, looking it over. “The Envoy is free until mid-afternoon. I’ll let her know that you’re coming in for a meeting.” The scribe picked up a spanreed set on a board and scrawled a few letters

“Thank you.” Rlain said, quickly.  _ Too quickly?  _ He wondered, feeling a slight tremor in his hands.  _ Can’t break cover now, storm it.  _

“Alright, you’re cleared. Up the stairs and to the second door on the left. That’s her chambers.” The scribe said, looking back down at her papers.

Rlain followed the instructions, slowly walking up the tight stairway, the steps cut right out of the rock. He could still hear them, the screams of the dying, the flashes of lightning in the distance. He could see his people’s death play out in his mind over and over again. That had no meaning, gave Rlain no purpose, if he did not know the truth of their passing. The reason and cost of their death. 

He unsheathed his knife, looking at the polished metal, a pained face staring back at him. His reflection hid nothing. Red and black marbled skin marked by sorrow. A reflection of what festered within. He opened the door with his free hand, feeling the metal doorknob click beneath his touch.

The Envoy stood, staring out a window that faced south, towards Narak and the Shattered Plains. Towards home, if it could be called that. She was tall and willowy, much like the scribe that sat in the front room of the office, with white and red marbled skin, more swirling than most he’d seen. Rlain could see into the adjourning room, where a squat bed and small table were the only furniture. He faced the Envoy, and the Envoy turned to face him. Her deep red eyes unnerved him, glowing, if faintly. “Sah, was it? Is there anything specific you’d like to hear or discuss?” The Envoy said, voice calm, smooth.  _ Dead _ . Rlain decided, staring into those eyes.  _ Consumed by hatred. _

“No. Nothing in particular, I think.” Rlain stammered, knife still held out at his side. He scanned her face, trying to place a name to it.  _ The angular features would’ve come from the form.  _ Rlain guessed, still standing in the doorway.

“I suppose we can find something then.” The Envoy answered, motioning for Rlain to come closer, “I can grab you a chair from the other room and we can talk.”

“That’d be great.” Rlain answered dryly, continuing to stare at her face. All at once, the answer came. Red and white was rare among his people, much less marbled in that way. He had known few with it, fewer still that lived to Narak. The Envoy during that time had always been crafty, too ambitious for her own good it had been said.  _ I should’ve known it’d be you.  _ The revelation stung Rlain, as he thought to his commander, and perhaps even his friend.  _ Your own sister died, and you still tarnish her memory… _ Rlain felt sick, but his mind felt sharp and clear.  _ I know what I need to do, for once in my storming life.  _ He held his knife up, staring down at his reflection one last time. “That’d be great, Venli.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y’all enjoyed Rlain suffering for about 3,000 words ;) As always, it’s a pleasure, and stay tuned.


	3. Two Traitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rlain confronts Venli, but in tandem, must confront his deepest fears and regrets.

Rlain stared into the eyes of a traitor, red like coals left too long in the fire. He held his knife wardingly, the serrated edge catching the faint glow of infused spheres hung in a lamp on the wall. He took in a sharp breath, the oddly cool air filling his lungs. A shout echoed in from the street below, followed by silence. The quiet swirled around both of them, smothering anything it touched. 

The Envoy-Venli, Rlain reminded himself-stood, holding onto a sleek, metal spanreed pen. It clattered to the floor in a rush, the infused ruby skidding away from its housing. Neither moved to pick it up. Both were bound by the quiet, and the knife to the back that was fear.

Venli raised her hands into the air, her flowing white dress rippling as she moved. It was, supposedly, a design that was ancient in origin. Many strips of fabric were seamlessly sewn onto it, each with a faint color dyed to make it stand out. Rlain let out his held breath, taking a step forward, closing half of the gap between the two inside the cramped room. Rlain met those eyes again, those awful eyes, and saw it play out in his mind once more. Narak, and the end of the listeners.

“Who sent you?” Venli said, breaking their silence. Her tone was cold, uncaring even.  _ The Void. The Pit of all emotion.  _ Rlain thought, remembering what he’d heard of Thaylen Field and Dalinar’s confrontation with the enemy there.  _ She’s been consumed too…  _ Rlain thought, feeling the grip on his knife weaken. His stomach twisted inside of him, and he swore he could feel pinpricks run up and down his spine.  _ I’m not strong enough to do what I must.  _

_ “ _ Who sent you?” Venli repeated, her voice cracking on the last word. “Hnanan? Leshwi?” The femalen clenched her fist, and looked away from Rlain, “They keep such a tight grip on you singers...I should’ve done more.” She said, staring out the window into the bustling camp below.  _ You can’t even face me.  _ Rlain thought, stepping up behind her, close enough to count each individual hairstrand on her head. 

“I sent myself.” Rlain said, no hint of emotion in his voice except rage, and hatred. Unbridled, unmarred, it could almost puff out of his lips like stormlight.

“Don’t play coy.” Venli replied, not turning around to face him. He liked it better that way, not having those eyes to sear a hole in his resolve-or would they strengthen it? She leaned further towards the glass, and Rlain swore he heard something come from her, a sniffle perhaps?  _ I...no time for weakness. Strength before Weakness.  _ “Everything I’ve done up until now, it’s not something you can erase. You’ll make a martyr out of me by staining the stone orange where I stand, assassin. Tell that to the ‘gods’ you so blindly serve.” She said, a bite in her voice.

_ Why does she curse the Gods when she openly serves them?  _ Rlain thought, feeling a shiver run down his spine, his hands gone clammy and cold. He brought the knife to Venli’s throat, in front of her face. Rlain now understood from his time killing and protecting humans that their arteries to the head were on the sides of the neck. A singer’s physiology differed in that way, for they were placed in the front and back. There was something more personal about that, he decided. You could more easily see what-and who-killed you. “I’m sorry,” Rlain said, attuning to the Rhythm of Peace. He had no other words, for none could describe such a tragedy.

He could feel Venli’s squirming, a slight resistance, so he grabbed onto her shoulder. He could see her bow her head, and he closed his eyes following her. Better that no one should see the blade slip.

“Where did you get that knife?” Venli asked, a hint of desperation in her voice, a powerful rhythm lacing her words. “I thought that it was lost, with the one who carried it. It was a gift, you know.” She said, hissing out the words, “Although I suppose you don’t care about things like that.”

_ A gift…  _ Rlain felt something tugging at the edges of his memory. Hands clammy, carapace rough against his skin, he pressed the knife a smidge against her throat, orange blood dribbling down the end. Voices ran like the higstorm’s floods in Rlain’s mind. His mother, his friends, all those who lost their lives at Narak, all called for him to let the knife slip.  _ I.. _ Rlain couldn’t focus, let alone think. Those screams, and the stories they told,  _ his  _ stories,  _ his  _ people. He felt his hand tremble, the knife cutting a deeper gash, still not deep enough to sever the artery, thankfully.  _ The knife…  _ He thought finally, looking down at the intricate blade, figures in resplendent plate armor with magnificent weapons in a variety of shapes ran its length, both on the handle and carved into the metal itself. All at once, he remembered, and all at once, he understood.

“You...gave this to me. You and Eshonai. I-“ Rlain was speaking more to himself than to Venli, babbling really. He wanted to say more, to express his anger and his fear, and most of all, his shame.

Venli broke free from his grasp, batting the knife away. Rlain let her, holding the stained blade at his side, in weak fingers. Rhythms shifted within his mind. Betrayal, Mourning, and behind them both, the Lost. She stared blankly at a point behind his head, not meeting his eyes. There was no spark of familiarity there, just blankness cast on a crimson red field.

“We were so young…” Rlain choked out, putting his free hand to his head. He had a pounding headache, and could barely think through it. _ I can’t let myself be bogged down by these memories.  _ He snapped back to attention, holding the knife out in front of him. Emotion fled him, replaced by duty. Somehow, he felt almost hollow, as he stepped forward. He could see double, one a well lit room, glinting metal in his hand, the other a dark plain, shattered like a plate, rain falling like tears. “But that doesn’t matter now...but I’m sorry things had to come to this, Venli. I can’t allow you to tarnish our people’s memory.” He said, quiet. No emotion or rhythm laced his words. They were as dead as a human’s heart, never allowed to truly live.

“Rl-Rlain?” Venli asked, quiet. “We thought you were dead…we sent you out to the war camps and you never returned.” She took in a deep, sharp breath, angular features rigid, “But now you’re here...why?”

“I tried to return but I was too late...you were already  _ his.”  _ Rlain replied, moving his knife towards her face, “You still are...serving his purposes. All our lives, we were taught to scorn the Gods, and yet here you stand, holding one of the forms they grant.” He shook his head, spitting out the words that followed, “You sicken me.”

Venli laughed, despite it all, “You really don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her voice had venom, spite. Hatred? “But kill me, Rlain, and serve him with your hatred. Can’t you see it? Or has his influence blinded you too? It blinded me, made me nothing but a shell. I don’t tarnish the memory of the listeners-I serve it.” She shook her head, orange blood still dripping from the small cut in her neck, “End the listeners here, but know their death is on  _ your  _ hands.”

Rlain felt like he’d taken a spear to the side.  _ I’m not strong enough to do this.  _ That, of course, was a lie. He had been so close to pushing that knife into her artery, millimeters away. He was still so close-the knife still held haphazardly towards her face. He could hear them again, the voices. They whispered, words inaudible, each spoken without rhythm. He closed his eyes, focusing on those words, just out of reach. One by one, he heard them. Teft, Lopen, Skar. Drehy and Sigzil. The voices of Bridge Four filtered in, voices mixed together, hard to understand. Then one, cutting through the others like a strong gust of wind. Kaladin, voice barely louder than a whisper, strained and defeated. ‘ _ I will protect even those I hate, so long as it is right.’  _ Rlain let his knife fall to the floor with a dulled clatter, knowing the truth of who he really was.

A fraud. A shadow of the ideals he swore to follow. A failure. For he couldn’t even uphold those twisted oaths. A traitor. Both to his people and his friends.

There were two traitors, then, standing opposite one another.

“Venli...you...how do you resist? When it’s so easy to give in...I don’t think I’m strong enough. I never was.” Rlain said, voice shaky. “You hold one of their forms of power, and you resist even still…”

“I can’t say.” Venli said, words curt, “Telling even you would be dangerous. Keeping you alive is dangerous, but I can’t bear to let another of our people die.” She sounded businesslike, not someone close to death. Rlain opened his eyes, finding Venli standing generally nonplussed.  _ Storms. They were both like this. Eshonai and her both. _

Rlain shook his head, catching his face in his hands, “Since we’re both  _ actively  _ working against the Fused, you don’t have to do this, Venli.”

“I  _ can’t _ , Rlain.” Venli repeated, a little more forceful. A ball of light whizzed by rapidly in the corner of his eye, but he paid it no attention. Probably just some spren they had whipped up in the frenzy…

“We’re on the same side, you don’t need to-“ Rlain trailed off, reconsidering.  _ Arguing won’t get us anywhere, but…  _ “Fine. Whatever. At least give me some way of contacting you. My commanding officers would be very interested in speaking with you, I think.” He added, shifting his weight between each foot, in a faintly rhythmic way.

“Commanding officers...unless I’ve sorely misjudged your intentions, I hope you’re not contacting this army's storming officers, Rlain.” Venli said, picking up spanreed pen off the table and twirling it around her fingers. She looked up at him, meeting his eyes, a slightly bemused expression on her face, “Well?” She asked.

“I serve the Windrunners and Dalinar Kholin.” Rlain replied, posture growing more straight backed and firm at the thought of his leaders.

Venli crossed her arms, a faint smirk on her face, “Well that’s a relief. I was hoping it’d be someone more exciting. At least I won’t have to get my information on the Radiants from some spy who’s not worth their weight in crem.” She sighed, “I guess I should explain what I’m doing exactly...but I’m gonna need some answers on how you got tangled up with the Radiants of all people.”

“Go ahead.” Rlain answered. 

“Well you see...I’ve been spreading the story of the listeners-the real story. I’ve been cultivating a network, let’s say, of people who aren’t so keen on Odium. We’re planning something-an uprising of sorts. It’ll be dangerous, and we’re nowhere near ready, but...it’s starting. We don’t want to be controlled by the humans, or the Fused, or Odium, but ourselves. You could-“ She took in a sharp breath, demeanor changing to one of pain, sorrow, even, “You could say we’re following our ancestors path, in that way.”

Rlain nodded, bowing his head in respect, “I understand. I joined the Radiants before Narak. I didn’t know it at the time, of course. I tried to return, but I was too late. I had nowhere else to turn, so I returned to work with the humans-my only friends left. Now I’m here, gaining information for them here.” He sighed, “I bet you’re mad at me for siding with the humans, is that right?”

“No…I get it, Rlain.” Venli replied, almost too quickly.  _ Does she have a Radiant on her side? Her ‘spy’ perhaps. They wouldn’t be singer, yet…  _ Rlain considered if, and decided to warn Dalinar in case this exchange of information fell through. “We’re on the same side...we may not agree on humans, but, in the end, we’re in the work of destroying our Gods. That much is enough for me.” She fished into her pocket, pulling out a small infused ruby, appearing to have been split in half. “For a spanreed. Get it back to your people and we can get in touch, go from there.” She said, pressing the ruby into his palms.

“I’ll get it where it needs to go. And Venli?” Rlain asked, slipping the ruby into a pouch tied to his side. With a quick movement, he grabbed his knife from the floor, stained a harsh orange on the end from the blood that dried there. He carefully slipped the knife back into its sheath, reminding himself to clean the storming thing before anyone noticed. 

“Yes?” She answered, unfolding her arms.

“It’s good to see you.” Rlain answered, launching himself into a hug, a tight embrace. He closed his eyes, escaping the two storms, the red lightning, and only finding peace there.

“I-storms.” Venli choked out, before returning the gesture and maintaining it in show. It was a rare show of affection among singers, an almost human one, in that way. “It’s good to see you, Rlain.” She said, sounding genuine, a twinge of sadness bleeding through the words. “I thought I was alone…” She choked out, leaning her head on his carapace plated shoulder.

“I thought we’d be forgotten.” Rlain added, holding his semi-stiff posture. He could feel them welling up inside him. Emotion bubbled up to the surface, and he could faintly hear the same thrumming from Venli. His people were all but gone now, but he could learn to cope, learn to accept that.  _ Journey before Destination… _

Two traitors wept, alone-together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, thanks for reading! It’s always a pleasure to write and hear from you wonderful folks :) aight I’m out till next time.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! Thanks for reading my first fic :) I'm still trying to figure this site out, so if there are some formatting issues or otherwise, please let me know!


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